


The Difference Between Need and Desire

by The_Sherlocked_Shadow



Series: Explorations and Explosions [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bladder Control, Desperation, Desperation Play, M/M, Piss Play, Urine, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Sherlocked_Shadow/pseuds/The_Sherlocked_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were few times where his <i>wants </i>became <i>needs</i>, but the one time where it did- and he enjoyed it too much- was currently settled uncomfortably upon his bladder.</p>
<p>Part of a series, but you can read it alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Difference Between Need and Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Where are all the watersports fics? It seems like our fandom had a rush there for awhile and now nothing! This makes me very sad.

There was a fine line between _need_ and _desire_ and Sherlock Holmes rarely ever toed it.

Yes, he needed sleep and he needed food and occasional other things that he couldn't be bothered with, but John made sure that he got. And he wanted cases and he wanted experiments and lots of other things that most people would think him crazy for.

There were few times where his _wants_ became _needs_ , but the one time where it did- and he enjoyed it too much- was currently settled uncomfortably upon his bladder.

"What are you doing?" John asked as he stepped back into the flat, take-away bags in his hands.

Sherlock inspected him for a moment- he'd gotten Chinese- before looking back at his laptop. "Nothing in particular. Checking the website and your blog and such." He pushed the laptop (John's laptop, to be precise) down slightly, trying to get the pressure off of his bladder. "I'm not hungry."

John sighed, carrying on through to the kitchen. "I didn't ask."

"You were about to."

"I was," John muttered. "Have you made any tea lately?"

"No," Sherlock replied, looking up. "That would be lovely, though, thanks."

John rolled his eyes and Sherlock looked back at the laptop. He really wasn't doing anything important. It had started out as a search for information but it had fallen through; he was getting rather anxious at the moment. Although anxious wasn't the word so much as antsy and it was getting difficult to sit still.

He re-crossed his legs at the ankles (his feet were propped up on the coffee table) and shifted slightly, trying very hard not to squirm. It wasn't that he couldn't wait... It was just at a point where he would generally get up to go to the loo if he were in any other situation. Or, at least, put serious effort into getting back to his own bathroom if he wasn't at home. Here, he was at home and in no situation that would put him into embarrassment... not any more than he was used to and loved, anyway.

John sighed and flopped onto the sofa next to him. The jostling movement made Sherlock's bladder twinge and send a sharper signal to his brain to release the contents building up in that particular place. He squared his jaw and refused to make note that he had acknowledged that sensation.

"What did you do today?" John asked, grabbing at the remote.

"Nothing. Research. Tried to find a case." He glanced up, allowing his eyes to roam John's form. "You went out with Stamford today."

John nodded. He didn't even question the deduction. "Yeah. We went out drinking."

Sherlock allowed his head to tilt, infinitesimally, to the side. If John went out drinking, chances were, he'd be in the loo every few hours. He was tempted to ask when he had last been, but the fact that John was relaxed enough, it must have been recently. Sherlock wondered if he could hold out until John needed to go again... With the effects of alcohol, it probably wouldn't take too long.

He stretched his legs again and judged how long he thought he could wait. He could push a couple more hours if he didn't drink the tea that John was preparing...

He closed the laptop, wincing slightly from the movement. John, however tired he seemed to be upon walking into the room, noticed.

"What's wrong?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Nothing. Don't give me that look; I'm fine," he said. He steeled his mind for the pain that would come with the shift in gravity before letting his legs drop from the table and standing.

It hurt, but not nearly as bad as he expected it would. He wasn't forced to double over, to grab his crotch to stop the urine from rolling down his legs. He had to pause for a moment to collect himself, but otherwise, he gave no reaction to his desperation. He was, however, very aware that John was watching him very closely now.

He deposited John's laptop onto the sitting room table and went to the kitchen for his tea. He was feeling better about that tea and he poured himself and John a cup.

"Here," he said as he offered it to John.

"Oh, ta," John said, taking it and blowing on the surface.

Sherlock didn't sit down again, but stood at the window and sipped at his drink, teasing his mouth and taunting his bladder with each mouthful he swallowed.

Eventually, he _had_ to sit down. He couldn't stand without doing a strange, demented dance where his legs would invariably twist together, where his thighs would find friction against each other, squirming in every other movement. He sank gingerly into his chair and crossed his legs, trying to immerse himself in the world of some fantasy programme John was watching on the telly.

All he could think about was pissing. This was the irksome part ofthe game, where his mind conjured up pictures that he didn't want and couldn't stop. Toilets and urinals or even just a bin where he could release the vast amounts of piss he was keeping in his bladder. He would even resort to letting his pants soak up intermittent drips as he released them slowly had he not known that if he started, he wouldn't stop. He planned on pushing this to the absolute limit and he was still hoping to get John to join him in his game.

So far, however, John didn't seem particularly interested in getting up from the sofa, much less going to the loo. Sherlock was about to ask when a particularly painful cramp sent shockwaves through his body and he squirmed unconsciously, jambing his thighs together.

"You have to go, don't you?" John asked suddenly.

Sherlock's cheeks warmed, not from embarrassment, per se, but moreover because he had been found out before he had wanted to be. But no matter. Now he didn't have to pretend.

" _Yes_ ," he replied, shoving his hand into his crotch. "You can be spectacularly ignorant sometimes," he gasped, shifting his hips slightly.

"I thought you did, but I thought I was imagining things," John replied, looking at him critically. "You've been desperate for the past hour, haven't you?"

"I've been desperate since you got home," Sherlock replied truthfully, massaging himself slightly. "But it's getting pretty bad. Really bad, actually."

John licked his lips. "I would ask, but I don't think you can wait very long."

If it was one thing that Sherlock hated, it was being doubted. Especially on something like this. "I can wait."

John raised his eyebrows. "Alright..." He looked back to the television.

Sherlock, feeling bereft and annoyed, pressed his hand more firmly towards his aching cock and looked back at the television as well.

The programme ended in thirty-five minutes, but there was no relief in sight for Sherlock. He still hadn't yet figured out what exactly he was waiting for or what he was going to do about his problem, but he didn't think he could move from the chair without creating a scene. His options were fairly limited... The chair and his trousers were doomed, unless he could persuade John to get him a bottle or a beaker.

"Come over here," John said suddenly, turning the TV off.

Sherlock glanced over to him. "Why?"

"Because I want you over here. Come on, I can practically see you trembling."

Sherlock bit his lip. "I don't think I can, John."

"Of course you can. It's a few steps. Seven at most."

Sherlock sighed and clenched the muscles in his thighs. He didn't care to pass up a challenge. "You're cleaning this up if I piss myself."

"You won't," John said cheerfully.

Sherlock wasn't quite as sure, but he pushed himself to his feet quickly. The pain was debilitating. Urine sloshed and resettled, pushing its full weight onto Sherlock's cock. He doubled over immediately, which, in retrospect, didn't help, shoving his hands between his legs.

"Come on, Sherlock. Come on."

An actual whimper tore up his throat. "I can't, John."

John quickly got to his feet and stepped over to Sherlock, placing his hand against his back. "Just a few steps."

Sherlock bit his lip hard enough to taste blood and practically ran the few steps to the sofa, sinking onto it painfully. Tears stung his eyes but he refused to let them fall. If he actually started crying, John would panic, tell him to just _go_ , and while the thought was certainly enticing, Sherlock didn't want the game to be ruined.

John sat down next to him again and Sherlock, in a fit of desperate unassurance, flopped down across John's lap, burying his face into John's jumper. John stiffened, tensed up, and so did Sherlock; although he was tensed up for the fact that he was about to lose control and he still didn't know where this was going.

"I wanted to wait until you had to go," he moaned, curling onto his side and pressing his thighs impossibly closer to each other.

John hesitantly placed his hand on Sherlock's head. The doctor's fingers felt nice toying absentmindedly with his curls. "I went to the loo when I left the pub."

"I know," Sherlock breathed, breathing in John's scent. It was oddly comforting. "I thought I could wait. Oh, John-" He sucked in a deep breath, curling up and then stretching out again. "I'm going to piss myself. I need-"

"Shhh," John murmured, drawing his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock squirmed again, whimpering again. "I can't wait."

"Just hold it..."

Sherlock unlocked his fingers from John's jumper and wedged his hand between his legs again. "I can't..." He gasped as heat rushed into his boxers. "John!" He grabbed at John's hand.

"Hold it," John repeated. "Hold it."

Sherlock licked his bloodied lips and pressed his face more firmly into John's stomach. "I'm going to piss. I'm going to... I'm..." he faltered as another stream trickled into his boxers. It trickled down his legs and soaked into trousers.

"Stop it," John said, squeezing Sherlock's hand. "You can do it."

Sherlock grabbed John's hand tighter and guided it to his overinflated bladder. "I can't, I can't I can't." His heartbeat pounding throughout his entire body as a third burst of piss let loose, filling the air with a brief hissing sound before he let go of John's hand and clamped both of his hands against his crotch with a wet squelch. "Let me go, John please-"

John's fingers dipped low enough to trail through the wetness of Sherlock's piss. "Wait..."

It hurt far too much and there was far too much pressure to listen to John. Instead, he just grabbed John's hand and pressed it against his crotch as the dam broke. Piss flooded forth, immediately soaking his boxers and quickly his trousers. He heard John's gasp but was more focussed on the piss crawling up his side, pooling on the sofa cushions where his body's weight indented them.

John gave him a rough squeeze and Sherlock moaned, squirming closer to John's hand as he pissed. He didn't want to let go, he wanted it to stop, stop it, now, but he couldn't. He'd given all his control over to John and the piss just kept coming, soaking himself and the sofa and even pouring in small rivers onto the floor.

His head was pounding, his cock was throbbing, and he just kept going and _going_. He lamented the loss of all of that urine but blushed in self-satisfaction of the mess he was making.

"John... I want to stop," he moaned, hiding his face further. John's trousers beneath his neck and shoulders were getting very tight to the touch, his erection straining towards Sherlock's warmth. "Make it stop..."

John's grip around his dick tightened but the flood didn't stop. Sherlock moaned deep in his throat and bucked into John's hand, the movement causing an explosion of piss in his boxers. John shivered underneath him.

Just when Sherlock thought for sure he couldn't _possibly_ piss any longer, it slowed and quieted. It still trickled from his drenched cock, but it was silent against his skin now. He didn't realise his entire body was tense until he had stopped pissing and only then did he relax, letting out a deep breath. He felt utterly, totally relieved, even if his bladder still ached and his skin was cooling rapidly.

"Are you finished?" John asked quietly.

Sherlock nodded tiredly. "Yes..."

John squeezed Sherlock's cock again. "You want to tell me where you went wrong there?"

Sherlock opened his eyes. "... What?"

"You went against my orders," John said.

Sherlock frowned, but his arousal was unmistakeable. This was... interesting. "What?"

"I told you to hold it and you pissed anyway."

"I couldn't wait," Sherlock protested, although he wasn't defensive at all. "I told you I couldn't wait."

"You realise you're going to have to make up for that, right?" John asked quietly.

Sherlock shifted and his urine sloshed. His cock jerked against John's hand. He had to get off _now_.

John stroked one finger against his drenched, clothed cock, drawing another moan from Sherlock's lips. "Your punishment..."

"Punishment?" Sherlock asked weakly, jerking into John's hand again. "What kind of punishment?"

John fell silent as he diligently worked Sherlock's cock. Sherlock felt the orgasm curl into his stomach, warmth pervading his body in preparation of the expel his body was about to do.

John removed his hand and left Sherlock bucking against the air. Sherlock whimpered lowly, squirming into nothing.

"We'll see," John said. He pushed Sherlock's head off his lap, forcing him to move away. "Go get a shower and clean this up. You're a mess."

Sherlock stared at John as the doctor went to the stairs, going up to his room.

Erection throbbing and soaked in his piss, Sherlock could only sit and shiver slightly as he thought of what John had meant by 'punishment'.

**Author's Note:**

> I have yet to write a second chapter so I'm still pondering the punishment myself... We shall see. ;D


End file.
